While we ride on the bus out to dinner last night, I looked out the window at a parking lot, half expecting the University Bookstore to appear in the front right corner of the bus. Wracked with a case of deja vu, I shake my head to remind myself that we were not in Georgia, instead finishing up our five week trip here. Thoughts of packing up have yet to occur; violent memories flash of the end of fall semester, a year ago.
We finished a movie night, Hostel, the first one, and it was Thursday. Everyone who lived in the dorm gets kicked out the next night at six, I remember my RA shouting down the hall. It was quiet hours, and I wished I could have written her up for disturbing my studies. The boxes that I moved in with sat on my bed, mocking my procrastination. I didn't want that year to end. I knew once summer hit, and then we all came back for the fall, my group of friends would fall apart, be torn to shreds by school and walking distances.
I feel that now. A sense of preemptive nostalgia, once we disembark from Lufthansa's plane, we vanish to the corners of Carrollton and the world, only to relive the fun from Facebook. The inside jokes fade away, just like summer tans from Rome, only replaced by school and winter whiteness.
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